


FaceTime

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Joanlock - Freeform, Platonic and otherwise, Season Six Spoilers, post season 6 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-14 15:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16043648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: Set after the end of season six so spoilers.





	1. Chapter 1

"I made $500 today. Second cat I found this week." Joan smiled, adjusted the screen on her laptop and watched Sherlock wince. 

"I'm sorry Watson ... utter waste of your talents." 

FaceTime had become a daily occurrence. 

"It's not that bad. We've done worse...."

"True." He cleared his throat. "You should come out for a visit."

"You've only been gone two weeks."

"15 days ...." he corrected her. 

"21 hours, 9 minutes ..." she murmured.

He looked away from the screen for a second before he spoke. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. " They silently stared at each other across an ocean.


	2. Chapter 2

"You look exhausted." The dark circles under his eyes and slumped posture were less of a tell than the stillness he was exhibiting. Sherlock fidgeted ... always ... and he wasn't fidgeting. Joan leaned in towards the computer screen. "What's wrong?"

He stared back, considered lying to her but couldn't muster the energy to do so. "I'm having to be nice to people." Sherlock scowled. "I'm trying to ingratiate myself to the circles of Scotland Yard where my consultations would be of best use and frankly I'm not sure it's worth the amount of energy it is taking to do so..." He pointed and wagged his finger at her image, "This, this is your job. You're the people person, the charming kind one that everyone loves." He wiped at his face with one hand and yawned. 

"That's not true. You can be extremely charming and lovable."

Sherlock shook his head. "I think you are the only person on this planet who thinks that.... luckily for me." His eyelids drooped and he rested his face against his hand. 

"You are selling yourself short. They know your work at Scotland Yard, how thorough you are and the efficiency with which you approach the ... work ... and solve ..." Joan slowly stopped talking as she realized he'd fallen asleep. She watched his breathing slow and his facial muscles relax and wished she was there to drop a blanket round his shoulders. Instead she watched him sleep, finding it oddly relaxing, the quiet of the brownstone mingling with the quiet of 221B, the space between them disappearing....

She woke up to the sound of a text on her phone. "Go to bed. SH." Joan glanced at her now dark computer screen, responded to the text with a "K" and laid her head backdown on the desk.


	3. Chapter 3

Joan carefully opened the takeout container ... a misty cloud wafted upwards.

"Curry?" Sherlock spoke through a mouthful of milk and cereal and peered more closely at his screen.

Joan tilted the container towards the laptop's camera to afford him a better view. "Yup. Your favorite, though probably not as spicy as you like it."

The time difference between London and New York was such that while Sherlock had a very early breakfast, Joan had a late dinner. 

"My mom came by for a visit today." She scooped rice into her bowl.

Sadness crossed his face. "How is Mary?

Joan spooned curry over the rice. "Good. The Aricept is working well for her, maintaining her steady for now. She asked about you." She picked up a spoonful of food and blew on it. "Mom was having a good day, really clear ... so ... I explained that you had gone back to London and ... and that you weren't coming back." Joan carefully brought the food to her lips and tested it.

Sherlock stopped, his own utensil midway to his mouth. "You explained my exile was not by choice I hope?"

"Yes. She asked me why I didn't go with you..." Joan put her spoon back into the bowl. "She told me I should follow my heart, go where I'm happy ... and uhm ... said she knew you and the work were what .. I uhm ... loved and she told me to go." Her voice dropped to a whisper. 

Sherlock stared, waited for her to continue, fear and hope wrestled within him. 

Joan raised her eyes to him, "Okay if I come out for a visit?"

The screen image jiggled, twisted and then took a sharp drop while the audio was punctuated by Sherlock's curses, the sound of porcelain breaking and the clang of a spoon. Joan watched with a smile on her face as the close-up of a wooden floor whirled upwards to be replaced by her partner's smiling albeit flustered face.

He cleared his throat, grimaced and strove to regain his composure. "I suppose that would be alright." 

A small laugh from Joan coaxed a shy smile out of him.


	4. Chapter 4

Blue light radiated into the inky darkness of her bedroom seconds before the clarion ringtone that she had recently assigned Sherlock split the silence and jolted her awake. 

The hour and his calling rather than texting released a surge of adrenaline through her that had her lunging for the phone and bolting into an upright position. "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." His voice, calm and steady, immediately lessened the pounding of her heart. "I just wanted to remind you to bring Angus. I miss the old sod." Absolute silence followed his request. "Watson? ... Watson? Are you there? Did I catch you at an inopportune moment?"

Her soft, steel-edged tone, the tone that sent lesser men running, cut through the distance that separated them, "Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I do. It's 3:17 your time. You weren't still asleep were you? Your flight leaves in eight hours, giving an hour for travel time to the airport plus the two hour pre-boarding recommendation, an hour to shower, eat ..." The sound of the dial tone interrupted his monologue. "Watson?...."

Joan rolled over on her side, punched the pillow a few times and tried to remember what was so irresistible about him that she was willing to fly across an ocean to see him. At the moment nothing in particular sprang to mind. She closed her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Another call. She sighed. FaceTime at least this time. 

"Sherlock, I'm on my way out the door. Angus is safely packed. Stop micromanaging."

"Good, good." He was on his phone, out in the field somewhere. The intermittent flashing of white, blue and red lights across his face and the sounds of an active scene behind him caught her attention. "I just wanted to give you a heads up that there is a possibility, albeit a small one, that I shan't be able to pick you up at the airport."

"What's happening?" She studied every inch of his image in hopes of answering the question for herself. 

"Been called in on a hostage negotiation. Not as bad as it looks..." his statement was negated by a SWAT-team like officer, fully armed running behind him shouting commands. "If I'm not there tomorrow morning, just go on ahead to 221B, I have every confidence you can pick your way in." His eyes darted to something on his left and quickly came back to the screen. He smiled. He didn't want to worry her. The only reason he FaceTimed was the selfish need to see her just in case ...

"Don't do anything stupid." Her concern elevated as she noted the tenseness of his jaw line and the twitching of his shoulders. The thought suddenly occurred to her and she angrily expressed it. "You are not exchanging yourself for a hostage are you? Because so help me if you ..."

"Come now Watson. Not to worry. You have a flight to catch. Have a safe trip and uh... you know ... " He couldn't say the words so she said it for him.

"Love you." She whispered. 

He nodded and his eyes held hers expressing what at the moment he could not verbalize.

A voice called out to him. "Mr. Holmes, we're ready for you."

"Have to go. I'll see you tomorrow morning, hmm?"

And with that he was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

He wasn't here. 

She had searched for him outside of baggage claim, lingered as long as she could without looking suspicious, texted him several times and received no answer. Joan rolled her suitcase outside. The crowds of incoming and outgoing passengers at Heathrow pushed past her. She scanned faces and bodies and found no one even reminiscent of her partner. Worry began to provide her with an array of possibilities for his delay - none pleasant. The thought of something happening to him and her not knowing, not there, not able to help him, set a small fire of panic in her. Joan started texting him once more. 

"Watson!" His voice, like a bell, cut through the cacophony of Not-Sherlocks. A taxi door flung open and in three steps he was before her. Joan threw her arms around him in unthinking joy and to her surprise felt his arms wrap themselves around her. For the first time in months she felt happy and she relaxed into his neck, feeling free enough to set a tiny wisp of a kiss above the collar of his shirt. Sherlock's hand moved to her head and held her just a little closer before pulling back. 

Eyes met in silent questioning - is this acceptable, is this too much, are you uncomfortable, shall I step away.... and then ... a gentle smile, a crinkled glance and a breath taken in unison signaled acceptance and a second, tighter, embrace was shared. 

"Why do you smell like wood-smoke or ... or ... some sort of spice... " Joan sniffed at his collar "Is that barbecue?"

Pride at her deduction was his first reaction. He disengaged from her and reached for her suitcase. "Yes, well done! Louisiana barbecue to be exact, from Ye Olde Cajun's Bistro and Pit."

"Is that why you're late?" She teased. "Stopped for a snack."

They started maneuvering through the crowds in search of another taxi, his having sped off. "No. That was the site of the hostage standoff. Ye Olde Cajun took umbrage at Ye Young Cajun, his son, tampering with the family spice recipe and a situation developed." Sherlock zig and zagged around pedestrians, suitcases and the like. Joan tried to keep up. 

He glanced back and slowed his pace until she joined him. "Being Americans, of course, they were both heavily armed. Clientele and employees were caught in the melee and a situation developed. I went in in exchange for a very pregnant young woman and spent several tedious hours mediating between the gun toting gentlemen while their "smokin' and grillin' and threatin'" went on ad nauseam."

"Sherlock! You should have ..."

"I assure you Watson, I was in no danger other than that of death by boredom. Didn't even have my phone to distract me."

He came to a sudden stop. Brought out his whistle and blew. A taxi immediately stopped for him. He looked at Watson smugly and she rolled her eyes. 

"After you," he said with exaggerated gallantness and sidled in next to her. "Home or would you rather stop to eat?"

"Home," she said and the rightness of the word allowed her to relax beside him.

"Home," he nodded in approval. "221B Baker Street, if you'll be so kind," he instructed the driver.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny, tiny chapter

The smile Joan had earlier contained broke free when he turned to her in mid-case explanation and with glee shook the bunch of radishes in his hand and proclaimed, "Of course, the sextant's revelation was key!" 

"Of course," she nodded. 

Since her arrival earlier in the day, he'd been rattling on like a school boy, regaling her with his latest cases, showing her his newest acquisitions, giving her tours of his favorite places and she? ... She was enjoying every minute. 

Joan had missed his enthusiasm for life's oddities, his energy and focus. Reuniting with her other half, falling back into the whirling orbits of emotion and thought just being in each other's presence produced made her realize how very much she had missed him.

Sherlock took note of the look on her face and misread it for exhaustion with him, "Sorry. You must be tired and I'm being a bore." 

"No! No, not all." 

He understood her protest as politeness and wheeled the small grocery cart towards the cashier. "Let's get you home, hmm?"

She touched his arm gently to stop him. "I'm not tired. I want to hear about the rest of your investigation. Remember, the most interesting case I had in weeks was locating Sir Meowster. I've missed this ..." 

Joan smiled at him and his face softened at the possibility that she had felt his absence as acutely as he had hers. He cleared his throat and broke eye contact. "Perhaps ice cream for dessert?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. More on the way. Trying to get caught up on all the WIPs. Thank you for your patience.

No breakfast. 

Joan lay awake ... waiting ... it was well past nine. ... no bagpipes, no bells, no Sherlock delivering a full English breakfast to commemorate her first morning in London. 

She rotated onto her back and snuggled down into the soft white sheets and waited some more. He had graciously turned over his bed to her .... she strongly suspected the bed and linens had been recently purchased solely for her use.

Hunger finally forced her into action. Joan sat up and listened. No sound of her flatmate. Perhaps he was being courteous. She stifled a snort, flung off the covers and headed downstairs. 

 

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the first floor study's sofa. Head thrown back, mouth slightly open, limbs dangling at odd angles, he was deep in the first restful sleep he'd had since leaving the brownstone. 

Joan resisted the urge to throw the nearby blanket over him for fear of disturbing him. It was time for a new tradition. She would wake him with his breakfast.... perhaps with a rousing military band rendition of "God Save the Queen." 

With a smile and a bounce, she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think think this is the last chapter. Thanks for reading!

Rows of white houses sitting politely side by side, their wrought iron railings reinforcing their boundaries, patiently withstood the rain that beat on their dark roofs. Through the fogging glass of the arched window, Joan watched the umbrellaed pedestrians taking the downpour in stride, hurrying home, parcels and children in tow. A sweet sadness passed through her. There was an orderliness, a restraint, to London that made her feel as if she belonged. She wanted to stay. 

Joan wrapped the cardigan closer round herself and closed her eyes for a moment. Truth, Joan, don't hide from the truth, she scolded herself. 

The truth was that she loved London, but she mainly loved London because it meant being with Sherlock. Her visit was reaching its end and the thought of going back to New York to live without him seemed utterly wrong. The past few weeks together had been comprised of some sightseeing but mostly work. He asked her to tag along on the Yard's cases and she happily agreed. They had investigated, theorized, researched, bickered, and talked through many a day and night about everything from the spread of Neolithic culture across Europe to that crack in the sidewalk outside 221a that she tripped on two days in a row and whether he was responsible for damage to her shoe. His argument that he was not responsible for her clumsiness and/or choice of inappropriate footwear brought them as near to an actual physical (aka pillow) fight as they had ever come. 

Joan smiled at the memory and tears sprang to her eyes at the thought of leaving him. 

"Here you are, Watson," Sherlock approached with two steaming mugs. "As per your request, hot cocoa." Silhouetted against the arched window, he assessed her posture as he approached and was concerned. "Mind you, its extremely hot...."

Joan turned and he saw her face. Sherlock put the mugs down on the nearby filing cabinet. "What's wrong?" 

She gave him a thin smile to alleviate his concern, struggling with how best to explain. His question was direct, his gaze intense and there could be no evasion.

"I ... it's just that .... I ... I don't want to go." She felt like a child as the words tumbled from her mouth and before she could begin to explain he spoke.

"Stay. I don't want you to leave. So stay." A small shrug accompanied his statement as if the matter could be taken care of as easily as that. 

"Sherlock, I want to but I can't ... I don't have the proper visa and ..."

"I can take care of that with one phone call. Right now if you wish." He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out his phone. He stared at it and took a steadying breath before speaking. "The thought of you leaving has been preying on me .... I ... I want you here. We belong together ... we are both of us better together...." 

The earnestness with which he spoke moved her. 

He continued, "The Wentwhistles gave me their notice yesterday. They'll be vacating 221a by the end of the month. You could move in there ... have your own space ... seperate but still together ...." Sherlock's voice faded into a whisper. He watched her whole demeanor change as she accepted the possibility that they could remain together.

"I would have to go back to the states to get Clyde, close down the brownstone and make arrangements to send my things ...." 

Joan smiled at him and his heart leapt. He fumbled with his phone. "I'll call right now and get your visa changed."

To his surprise, she took the phone from his hand and set it by the hot cocoa. "We'll have time for that later." Her arms wrapped around him and she hugged him tight. "Thank you. You've just made me very happy."

He held her tight against him and they swayed in contentment.

Joan murmured into his chest, "You will be repairing the sidewalk crack in front of the building, correct?"

Sherlock smiled into her hair, and placed a tiny kiss there before answering. "Not a chance in hell Watson...."


End file.
